


The Loving Touch

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has everything, but it's not enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loving Touch

**Warnings / Content:** Adultery, BDSM, angst.

  
 **Prompt:** _Ever since the war, Bill has slipped away from family and friends for unexplained reasons. Sometimes for hours sometimes for days. He tells fleur it's not another woman, but otherwise he has no explanations and refuses to explain._  
  
  
With the latest screams echoing in his ears, Bill slammed the front door of Shell Cottage behind him. One day the wood would splinter and then he'd really be for it. He briefly considered his options. If he used magic, he'd be there quicker, but if he took the bike then some of his rage might be forced out of him by the wind rushing past his body.  
  
He heard a crash from deep within the cottage and sighed. The bike. Always the bike. Harry hadn't wanted it. In minutes he was astride the gleaming red body, wearing his helmet, kicking life into the beast which grumbled to readiness in between his legs. The vibrations calmed him somewhat. When he released the brake he felt better, and that was just the start.  
  
***  
  
Windswept and slightly frozen, Bill combed his fingers quickly through his hair before reaching out and touching his entire palm to the door in front of him. The wood closest to his skin glowed green and he pushed his way into the house. It smelt as it always did – of herbs and light disinfectant. The strains of the piano came to him and Bill smiled to himself. He loved to hear him play. Such beautiful control and softness with the keys. He paused in the doorway to watch.  
  
He remained undiscovered for some time, until a sheet was turned and he was finally spotted loitering in silence.  
  
“Must you do that?” Severus Snape sighed, looking over his shoulder with an expression akin to discovering dog muck on the sole of his shoe. “My heart gets weaker with each passing visit.”  
  
Bill didn't bother to respond verbally, but rolled his eyes as he eased his shoes and coat off. He stored them neatly – there was no need to tempt the wizard's ire. He had enough arguments at home.  
  
“Come here and kiss me.” The command was sultry and delivered with the ease of words which never had cause to doubt that they would be disobeyed.  
  
Bill went, down on his knees by the piano stool, upturning his face and allowing his hair to flow down his back. Severus caressed his cheek with a thumb and met his gaze.  
  
“Every time I see you lately, you look shattered.” Severus leant forward and kissed his hair. “You work too hard.”  
“It's not just work that's the problem.”  
  
Severus ignored his hint of problems at home and instead turned back to his piano. “I'm going to finish this piece if it kills me. But my hands are giving up.”  
  
Dismissed, Bill rose to his feet and headed for the sofa set against the opposite wall to the piano. He made himself comfortable, bringing his legs up alongside him and resting one elbow on the arm. He followed Severus' outline with his eyes as he sat straight-backed, playing a beautiful melody that Bill didn't have a hope of knowing the name of.  
  
Nobody, other than himself, knew that Severus Snape was still alive to sit at a piano, let alone play one. Bill had made the discovery completely by accident after the battle. He'd been searching for hiding rebels. Instead he'd found a mostly dead hero. But the little fight that Severus had left, he had used in gasping his requests to Bill. To be taken to safety under the cover of a glamour and nursed back to health. Then he wished to be released without further discussion, and Bill was to forget all about the Slytherin he'd saved.  
  
It would have all gone swimmingly, had Bill not fallen hard and fast for his patient. There was something in the acerbic wizard that he had quickly become infatuated with, no matter how hard Severus had tried to chase him off. Despite doing everything he could to discourage their union, Bill knew that Severus was equally addicted to him.  
  
Of course, there were problems. Bill was married and, despite his indiscretions, loved his wife dearly. She shortly fell pregnant after the war, and though he had tried to give up his secret lover for the sake of his unborn baby, he'd fallen short of the task. Severus needed him.  
  
More honestly, Bill needed Severus, because life just wasn't what he'd dreamed it be with his wife in their idyllic cottage, a baby on the way and more to come over the years. He saw the admiration in his brothers' eyes – he had what they all wanted.  
  
 _I wanted it too. At first._  
  
If he looked shattered, it was because his conscience was keeping him awake night after night, and the bank was working him like a slave during the day. During the war there'd been a flurry of treasures deposited all around and out of the country, supposedly for safekeeping. However, many of the owners had actually forgotten the exact point of burial or secretion and finding the hordes now made up the majority of Bill's work. He hated it. The families were greedy and bitter at the idea of paying a fee for their own stupidity. He'd asked to be reassigned to another office but they weren't having it – Bill Weasley was, and always had been, their best treasure hunter. They weren't letting him go.  
  
And so he ran from work to family, from family to Severus and back again, never having the time to simply breathe and be.  
  
“You're deep in thought tonight.” Severus' voice broke through the fog of his life's troubles and Bill looked up, startled at the sudden interruption.  
  
The wizard rose and sat down next to Bill. Immediately Bill leant into his side and slid down into the man's hold. He pressed his face against the open dressing gown. Severus never left his house. Bill couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him fully dressed. His long black hair, which never looked completely clean, hung limply and greasily around his face. But Bill liked it all the same. He wrapped his arms around a trim waist and held on tightly.  
  
One hand started to stroke his hair, starting at the roots and running right to the ends. His tension must have shown on his face, he thought, or Severus would not be comforting him as he was.  
  
“I love you,” Bill whispered, feeling small, vulnerable and immensely lonely.  
  
***  
  
The sex had, at first, been new, alarming and hotter than anything Bill had known before. It turned out that the Potions Master had a deep fetish for bondage and ordering his lovers about. Looking back, Bill had no idea why he was surprised about the last part. At the start it had been so deliciously different to anything he had experienced before, the excitement and the pounding of his heart kept him seeking more.  
  
After five years, it was different. Those moments spent stretched out painfully over upturned dining chairs, or with his hands drawn high above his head, barely managing to stand on tiptoes, they were the only moments of calm he had in his life. With each pinch, slap of the flogger or whistle of the riding crop, it made him so intensely aware of himself and his body that it was all he could think about. Such an escape was desperately needed.  
  
Severus knew his limits. There had been very few times when that boundary had been reached. Only one where it had gone too far.  
  
Bill swallowed as Severus circled him, his dark eyes scrutinising for any slight imperfection which he could punish for. Goosebumps erupted along his arms. The tip of the riding crop caressed his ball sac and he gasped. The muscles in his belly triggered the twitching of his cock and below them, his balls with a weight dangling by string. He groaned, forgetting whichever rule he was supposed to follow that evening – sometimes he was to be silent and others he was required to scream. Severus came close to him and traced the tip of his index finger over the head of Bill's cock. Round and round it went, at the same, steady pace, until droplets of white oozed from the middle.  
  
When one finger dipped into it and then extended up to his mouth, Bill willingly sucked it. The move was repeated and he the more found himself licking more and more of his own essence, the harder his cock became. The weights were nothing compared to what he'd been through before and could not soften his arousal.  
  
“Please...” he ground out the beg, squeezing his eyes shut and tipping back his head.  
  
Perhaps his desperation and vulnerability was at a peak, because he was never normally given what he wanted so easily, but Severus took him in hand and began to masturbate him with a firm grip and fast strokes. Bill had been on the verge for at least an hour. It didn't take long to ruin him. His moans on completion were guttural and strained and the orgasm seemed to last forever, properly emptying him.  
  
As soon as the last surge had gone, he sagged, causing gnawing pains in his shoulders and neck.  
  
“Stand up straight. I'll release you.”  
  
Bill didn't have the energy to comply. Somehow, despite the relative tameness of their evening together, he was at the edge of his limit. He'd undergone far worse treatment. A memory of not being able to sit down without tearing up floated through his hazy brain. He let Severus release and manhandle him to the bed, where he rolled onto his side and curled up. His hair fell over his eyes and he had no inclination to brush it back. He heard Severus talking to him, but his voice was distant, too distant to understand. Bill closed his eyes, for once feeling at peace.  
  


* * *

  
  
He looks around at his bedroom. Every fibre of his being trembles. He looks at the bed, where he has found pleasure. Where he has conceived two children. Where he has loved his wife since the day they were married. Where he has lain awake at night loving another man.  
  
He leaves the bedroom, unable to stand the sight of it any longer. He does not look at the family photographs on the walls as he goes downstairs. He checks into the living room and sees the sealed letter where he left it. Her name is on the front. The note is short.  
  
He opens the front door, feeling strange and assailable without his wand. For it to be believable, he has left it upstairs on the bedside table, next to the beloved watch he has also forsaken. His wallet sits nearby.  
  
His throat thick, he steps over the threshold. When his wife returns from seeing friends later that evening, she will find him gone and by all accounts, dead by his own hand.  
  
He straddles his darling bike and forces it to wake in the cold air. The purring soothes him.  
  
His bike is the only thing he can take to escape and the only thing which could identify him. He releases the brake, ready to drive the roads he knows by heart, ready to live a reclusive life with a man who has no idea what he has set in motion that night.  
  
He flies along the tarmac, hair streaking out behind him. His resolve wavers in the cold and wind. He thinks about turning back and throwing his note in the fire. He thinks about living his life unsatisfied and furthering the deception of his family.  
  
He thinks about never feeling at peace again.  
  
He applies more pressure to the accelerator and prepares to disappear.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
